


Michael

by Drogna



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Rip Week 2019, Rip lives!, RipFic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 15:49:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drogna/pseuds/Drogna
Summary: Rip finds himself having a rather strange conversation after he overloads the time drive.





	Michael

**Author's Note:**

> A small fic for Rip Week Day Six - Rip Lives, because of course he does.

For a moment, Rip could see the entirety of time laid out around him. It was amazing, a glittering sea of tiny golden threads and they wove around, in and out. Each one was a life and they influenced each other, creating a deep tapestry of patterns and repetitions and innovations. It was a testament to the tenacity and ingenuity of human life that it continued far into the future, and it was completely overwhelming.

His vision narrowed, everything too much for his tiny human brain to handle, and he felt it try to protect him and persuade him that this wasn’t reality. Time was too vibrant for that though. It wormed its way into his head even with his eyes shut, and the pain was excruciating.

_Excruciating:_

_Extremely painful. From the Latin – excrucio, meaning to torture_

That thought had come from nowhere as if it wasn’t his own. Rip realised that he had no idea where he currently was. He didn’t appear to be standing on any kind of solid ground, but yet he was standing, and he was breathing but he wasn’t sure that there was actually any air here to breathe. Mostly the area around him was a dark treacly blackness, that appeared to be so dark that it needed entirely new words to describe its lack of light. The only light was the threads of the timeline, which were pinpricks of light except when he focused his attention on them. Then they became more distinct and brighter.

_Rip Hunter, Time Master, Legend, This Is Your Life._

There it was again, another unwanted thought that had come from nowhere and suddenly the pain was receding as his view of the timeline narrowed down to one thread. This didn’t seem to make any sense.

_Sense:_

_The meaning, reason or value of something. Borrowed from Old French, sens, which was taken from sensus, Latin._

_Isn’t language interesting? I haven’t had a chance to play with English in far too long. Just thought that you’d want the recap. Last time in Rip Hunter’s life!_

“Who are you?” asked Rip. “Who is speaking to me?”

_I have many names. No, wait, that’s a bit of cliché, isn’t it? Many cultures give me names but in reality I have none. You can call me… Bob. Although you’re the only one speaking. I’m merely putting words into your head._

He had so many questions about all of that, but none of them wanted to be framed in a way that he could ask. He just blurted out the most outrageous part of that information as a question.

“Bob?”

_Yes._

_“_ Are you what I would call “God”?”

_Not exactly, but I suppose that’s as close as you will get for now. That’s more of an occupation than a name though. It would be the same as if I started calling you “trouble”._

“Trouble… I suppose that is accurate. Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?” asked Rip.

_Not as such, or certainly not as you’d understand it._

Concepts appeared in his head, ones that he’d barely even considered the existence of. It laid out how time worked, the cogs that powered the celestial clocks of the universe, and Rip found that he **Understood**. He **Understood** reality itself with a dread certainty that filled his soul with horror and joy at the same time. But his head was hurting again.

_Oh sorry, maybe you’re not ready for all of it. Not yet, anyway. I had hoped this time you would be._

The knowledge receded, and the concepts seemed to be dumbed down a little now, although were still there. He supposed it was the difference between telling someone that the Earth revolved around the sun and taking them through the orbital mechanics of it.

Then something that Bob had said caught up with him.

“This time?”

_This is the second time that you have touched time and we have met. I did say that we would._

He searched his memory for any recollection of anything that happened between touching the time drive and becoming Phil. There was nothing, just a gap.

_Your memory does appear to be a little faulty. Human frailty I’m afraid. You can’t retain everything in that head of yours when you’re in your human form._

“I’m sorry, human form?”

_The energy from the exploding time drive appears to have changed you, although it is a cumulative effect from your first encounter with the time drive. Touch time, get burned, you know that._

“Well, yes, but it shouldn’t be possible to survive an overloading time drive…”

_Still, you appear to be here. Humans. So incredibly good at ignoring anything that doesn’t fit in their world view._

Something tickled at the back of his mind. An old memory, resurfacing, but buried so deep that it required extensive excavation. He _had_ been here before, and there had been a conversation a lot like this one. He had refused to believe that he wasn’t dead, and Bob had patiently explained it all, much as they were doing now.

“Are you going to send me back this time?” he asked.

_Would you like that?_

“I don’t know. I had work to do last time. This time… I don’t think anyone needs me.”

_Seems unlikely. Perhaps we should take a look at the timelines and see. Go on, you should have enough control now to be able to do this._

Suddenly Rip was pushed forwards amongst the threads and then he was sorting through the timelines of his friends. He could see the founding of the Time Bureau and his recruitment of the Legends and where each of those timelines crossed his own. He reached out and took one. Ray Palmer, from his birth to his death, many years in the future. Something was wrong though.

“Wait, that’s not how it happened…” murmured Rip. He picked up another timeline. Jax’s. He examined this one, and it was so heavily wound around Martin Stein’s that the two of them were almost inseparable. Rip shook his head.

“Martin died here…” he said and indicated a moment on the timeline. Somehow the timeline carried on, and Professor Stein continued to live.

_Did he? Memories can be a funny thing when you’ve touched an overloading time drive._

Rip examined the thread more closely, and there appeared to be a splice; a new thread had been added into the first. As he touched it, the splice became stronger.

“Am I doing that?” asked Rip.

_Yes. A benefit of your new abilities. Even your human form might be able to reweave fate eventually. Give yourself time, Michael._

“I’m not Michael anymore.”

_You were and will be. Just take a look at your own timeline._

Rip picked up the curling, looping thread of his own timeline. He could see his birth and the first time that he touched the time drive where a silver knot had appeared. It twisted backwards and forwards around the linear flow of time, and a silver strand had added itself to the fabric of his thread. He found the second knot that was this moment where he was now. The gold thread was almost entirely silver here, and it became fully silver only a few days from the knot.

_Michael, the future archangel of time. Did you think the universe was in the habit of coincidences?_

“Are you saying that I’m an angel? That’s utterly absurd,” replied Rip.

_Time changes people. You especially, after all your years as a Time Master. You looked into the wellspring of the oculus. You were there when it was destroyed. You are soaked in the very fabric of time itself, and this has always been._

_It is written that Michael and his angels fought against the dragon. That is you, Rip Hunter. You are the guardian of time. You will fight and win the battle for time itself against the greatest foe in the universe: Satan himself. You have already defeated one of his minions, more are coming._

“This is ludicrous. Do I get wings and a white cassock, maybe a pair of gold sandals?”

 _If you really want them. Really the title of archangel is symbolic. I always preferred the epithet “_ _ταξίαρχος” given to Michael._

Rip frowned and searched his mind for the little Ancient Greek that he knew.

“Brigadier?”

_I suppose so. “General” may be better._

“So, I go back to Earth and do what?”

_What you have always done. Defend the timeline. Except this time Bob will be watching over you, and you will find you have some rather more interesting abilities to assist you._

“What if I don’t want to do this? What if I’ve had enough of being the one who always stands between the timeline and disaster?”

_We both know you’d be bored within the week with nothing to do._

Rip sighed with the non-existent air. “It’s hilarious really. I’ve never been much of a believer and here I am in the presence of… Bob, being given the news that I am, in fact, the Archangel Michael. Which, of course I am, because why the hell would I have any kind of normality in my life!”

_One last battle, Michael. You’ll need friends and weapons. Choose both wisely. Now, what is it that the kids says in all those memes in 2018? Oh yes, yeet!_

With that final word, Rip was thrown back to Earth. He landed somewhat unceremoniously in the lobby of the Time Bureau, face down on the floor.

“Bollocks!” he groaned, as he tried to roll over and found he couldn’t, something was in the way - something white and feathered that was securely attached to his back. He had wings. They flapped as he tried to move, and he caught a glimpse of once as it extended. It felt like he could control them if he thought about them as a limb.

“Oh bloody hell! I didn’t mean for you to actually give me the sodding wings!” he shouted up at the ceiling. The wings promptly folded in behind him and then disappeared, although Rip knew that they were still there, just no longer visible on this plane of existence.

“Rip?” asked a perplexed voice. “Oh my god, Rip!”

Rip looked up to see Sara regarding him with complete surprise.

“Uh, hello. I’m the bloody archangel Michael, and I need the Legends to help me save time. Again…”

He had no idea how he was going to explain this one to them, but if he was going to need friends, the Legends were a good place to start.

***


End file.
